Such a Thing As Expendable
by Hang Me High
Summary: In Mockingjay, the Districts over-ruled the Capitol - and now it's their time to finally take revenge for all the years of suffering. The 76th Games are about to begin...
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, or any original characters._

_A/N: I was scrolling through the stories on here and have noticed a lot of people have been writing stories where they continue the Hunger Games. This will instead be a story where President Coin's idea of capitol children being sent into the arena instead is brought to life. I've come up with a few main characters myself but I'm welcome to anyone submitting tributes too, so I'll leave a form at the bottom of this chapter for you to potentially fill out. There will be 24 tributes as per usual. _

_Summary: In Mockingjay, the Districts over-ruled the Capitol - and now it's their time to finally take revenge for all the years of suffering. The 76th Games are about to begin..._

* * *

**Prologue**

**Peeta Mellark's POV**

Home was District 12, no matter how painful the memories here were. This was where I was born, raised and Selected - and after surviving the Hunger Games, I knew this was the place I would surely die too. That was fine with me, it was better than fine in fact. It was almost too good to be true.

This was also the place where I had first fallen in love with Katniss, almost eight years ago now.

Katniss lives in the house across from me in the Victor's Village. This is pretty much the only place where people actually live. It's only been a few months after the rebellion and people have only just started to rebuild their lives. God knows I've been trying. Everyday I see what is left of our District. I see who is left too. I watch them labouring away as they build houses, a school, a new town hall. I've even been assisting the construction of a hospital.

I'm not a labourer though, I'm just an artist.

I paint for people, anything they like. My most famous work across the New Seam is a mural in the town square. I made sure to have special paints imported before I started my work, the kind of paint that wouldn't fade or splinter away quickly. The mural is of the first sunrise I saw when in the arena; a memory that I know won't fade or splinter away quickly either.

The Sun had been bright through the trees, artificial and fake yet... So reassuring at the time. Sunrise meant that I had survived the night. It was like no sunrise I had seen before and at first it hadn't even hurt to look directly into it. In fact, I still swear I could see each individual shade of gold, red and white in the rays that engulfed the sky that morning.

The reason I painted it was because I also know it was something I'll never see again because no matter what, no sunrise will ever give me the strength and hope that particular one had given me. I longed for it now as the television in the living room of my house came alive.

I had almost forgotten and now, I instantly wanted to all over again. The Reaping of the 76th Games was about to begin and already I was slipping into a state of disrepair. Memories from three years ago came flooding back and I was the son of a baker again, standing awkwardly before the eyes of the Capitol.

No matter how much I hated the Capitol though, I hated the Hunger Games more. I tried to close my eyes - but no, they just came to life again before my eye lids.

_My Katniss... Holding a handful of the berries that had just killed off the last of our opposition..._

No. That was the past, this was now. Now was safe. I was safe. The only palpable sinking reality was that the children about to appear on the screen were not safe.

It was meant to be something to even out history. Some even called these Games fair and vengeful. I called it murder. Katniss and I had argued about this topic several times already since we'd returned home. She was never quite certain of how she felt about the Games. One minute she would beg me never to mention them or their meaning again. The next she was agreeing to things just like this and I was staring at her wide-eyed.

The image of the destroyed Capitol came into focus now and I found myself staring into the eyes of what would be called a commentator.

The first thing I noted were that his eyes were a pastel blue, the kind of colour I would've linked with outrageous frosting once upon a time. The second thing was that he talking.

"... This is a day in which the people of Panem will make amends for ever, a day in which history will change. This is the day of the last Reaping and for once we can sit and watch, not worrying about our beloved children taking part. No, we shall welcome instead the children of our dear, sweet Capitol onto the stage." The camera visibly zoomed out and now I saw that there was a whole crowd of people, and that the ruins had only been a backdrop.

A few hundred children were gathered into the centre of the crowd on a raised platform. I felt a tear run down my cheek and didn't bother to swat it away.

And then the Reaping began.

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_A/N: As well as submitting tributes I would also enjoy getting a few reviews for this little prologue. I know it's not much but I'd like to think it showed my writing skills well and that I did Peeta justice. Anyway, here is the form I promised you guys..._

**_Compulsory_**

_Full name: _

_Age:_

_Appearance:_

_Personality:_

_Skills (useful to the Games):_

_Weaknesses:_

_History:_

**_Optional_**

_Friends and Family:_

_Reaping Outfit:_

_Interview Outfit:_

_(Just to say a big thank you to anyone who reads this and has read The Hunger Games. They're incredible!)_


	2. Rust and Dust

___Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, or any original characters._

___A/N: I'd just like to say thank you to those who submitted tributes :) even if some were from Districts and not from the Capitol... But still, thanks! Anywho, here's the first chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 1 -**

**Rust and Dust**

**Bron Weatherbee's POV**

We were a sea of black, dressed simply for mourning. When the Districts over-threw President Snow we thought the hatred they carried with them would diminish. Only it didn't, consequently resulting in something even more sinister than a public execution of one man: the public execution of many children.

That was what the Games came down to in the end anyway. Execution. Some even said it was no different from our own way of punishment because after all, we had killed hundreds of their children over the years, hadn't we? I guess the people of the Capitol had just hoped that because the Districts were trying to change our way of life that they would change the Hunger Games too; get rid of them even. I know that I had hoped for that.

Now I found myself surrounded by people that I may or may not have known, all of us terrified and tormented by the very idea of what was about to take place.

I had been ushered into the centre of the crowd along with classmates of mine, childhood friends and even kids I had never seen before in my fifteen years of life. We were grouped together. Males to one side and females to another. I could barely breathe amidst the panic, and I wanted so badly to scream but I didn't have the air in my lungs. I even felt faint as a man began speaking into a microphone.

His speech was different to the one my family had heard on our television every year before. He was callous, almost heartless even. Had our speaker ever sounded so heartless? I couldn't clearly remember. Nothing before the announcements that a final Game would take place seemed real to me anymore.

"...We shall welcome instead the children of our dear, sweet Capitol onto the stage." My heart thudded harder and I gripped the closest hand next to me. As I looked down I saw his skin was tanned however not in the fake orange way that was the craze when I was eight. Biting my lip out of nerves, I looked up and met the eyes of the hand's owner. They seemed so alive, a mixture of permanent Autumn colours. I held onto his gaze for as long as possible, his own grip tightening around my palm.

The speaker laughed a little as he read out a name. I bit down on my lip harder, tasting the rust of blood as it welled into my mouth. If there was one thing I was lucky to have it was a high physical pain threshold. I didn't have an emotional one though.

A boy no older than twelve years old was on the stage now, the crowd before him shouting and crying out. He was crying, the tears messing up his wonderfully painted face.

I closed my eyes, momentarily, fighting back a sob. More names were read out, more shouts and cries. Then the hand that held mine was gone and I let out a small gasp of surprise. My eyelids shot open, following him as he walked through the crowd onto the stage, joining sixteen other children who were stood huddled together in a mess of nerves.

I couldn't even make out his eyes from this far away now.

"Weatherbee, Bron!" In that second I heard my own name, it was like my veins had filled with ice. I heard my mother screaming from somewhere below, desperate not to lose her surviving daughter. She'd already lost my baby brothers to an explosion during the rebellion. I suddenly felt as scared as she probably was.

I was pushed forwards, in the same path that the boy with Autumnal eyes had taken. My feet stumbled underneath me and I almost landed in a heap on stage.

The speaker helped me steadily regain my balance as I turned to face the same direction as my fellow tributes. The speaker had already begun reading out the last remaining names. I ignored him, trying to find my parents in the crowd. My heart fell as I realized I couldn't. There were too many people, a flurry of Capitol citizens and District onlookers. I bet they were damn pleased.

I tried to glance at Autumnal Eyes but he wasn't looking my way. Instead, he was bent next to the little boy who was still sobbing. I couldn't tell if he was having a go at him or comforting him, however his words seemed to work and the boy straightened up a bit.

The final girl was walking to join us now and it was then that I realized I hadn't paid attention to anyone elses names. Only my own, as always.

The girl seemed to disect us each, inside and out, as she prowled onto the stage. She gave the appearance of a wild animal, with pointy features and heavily dyed hair that stuck-up in all directions. I wondered if she had dressed like this for a reason, perhaps out of some foreboding that she would be Selected. I mean, the emotionless expression she wore looked almost practised to perfection.

She met my eyes and in the split of a second, I knew with a certainty that once in the arena this girl would kill me.

* * *

**Pacha Lawson's POV**

I felt sick, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I was sure I was not the only one either, though my pain somehow seemed to matter more.

I'd always been a huge fan of the Hunger Games - mainly because to that younger version of me it had never seemed real. Just a show plastered onto our TV screens for us to watch, to enjoy and then to forget about until next year. My favourite had been a victor called Finnick because he knew how to swim and to use a trident. I'd never been taught how to do either.

Now my family were really going to regret not listening to me when I'd asked for a specialist combat tutor and for swimming lessons. Around about the only thing they'd actually taken seriously was when I had asked them if I could be dyed entirely violet, and to that seemingly stupid request they'd even agreed. Being a walking grape wasn't going to help me now I had been Selected though, was it.

Really more furious than upset, I looked up and down the line of the other 23 tributes as the speaker drawled on about how this had been a day that had taken so long to come. I wanted to punch him. How dare he talk about us like that? We were Capitol citizens after all, and I was certain he was just from one of the Districts. I didn't care which.

There was the girl in the year above me at school, the one who had bullied most people and never got caught for it. I bet people were thankful she was being sent into the arena. Then there was another girl standing next to her that I'd never even seen before. Was her name Ron? Her gaze appeared anxious as she looked about the crowd. I wondered momentarily who she could be possibly looking for.

In the distance between Ron and myself were several kids, each with varying appearances but all wearing the same black clothes. It was something our citizens had agreed on beforehand. It was something that was also sure to irk the Districts. Beside me was a girl with blonde hair thrown back into a tight ponytail. She didn't look completely unhappy about being thrown into something that would probably result in her death.

She looked kind of... Angry. As angry as me. I decided I would make this girl an ally, just like I had watched Finnick make allies too.

Suddenly I couldn't focus on the Reaping anymore and I had to cover my mouth because I was sure I was going to throw up. The blonde-haired girl turned and looked at me momentarily as I gagged. Then her eyes brushed past me and focused on a boy with messy, fair hair in the crowd. I couldn't focus on watching the others anymore and I collapsed onto my knees, coughing and vomitting.

That's when I realized I hadn't eaten for two days so I would look good for the Reaping. It wasn't something I'd done on purpose, it was just habit. My mother, father and sisters all fasted before important events instead of using vomit-inducing tablets. When you added nerves to an empty stomach though you didn't need tablets.

* * *

** Bron Weatherbee's POV**

The Reaping was over by the time they carried the purple boy off stage. He'd collapsed in a puddle of sick a few minutes ago and I'd had to look away, knowing that the sight would probably make me feel even worse myself.

They made us stay where we stood as the camera men checked that the footage had been broad casted to everyone in Panem.

I felt like a puppet on a string, barely able to stay still and straight as we waited to get away. I wasn't sure what exactly happened next after the Reaping but I knew we would be given some time to train, some time to be dressed and designed and then... Then we'd be on our own in the arena.

I'd be alone with the wild-looking girl. The very thought frightened me.

The camera man gave the all clear and the shouting from the crowd got louder as we were herded off of the stage. I had heard somewhere in school that herding was what you did with something called cattle. I suppose that's all we were now. Cattle.

I followed the rest of the tributes, trying to keep my distance from Wild Girl. It wasn't hard to keep up, seeing as no one particularly wanted to be the first to know what was about to happen next. It was something no one in the Capitol had ever seen aired, something remotely private. I was curious, there was no doubt about that - but terrified at the same time.

"Come along," a tall, broad-shouldered man told us in a voice that fitted his gruff appearance well. His head was shaved, covered in tattoos. I couldn't tell if he was Capitol or District. As if it mattered now anyway. "Hurry up, or I promise you won't make it to the Games." We hurried up immediately, none of us willing to take that impossible chance. They couldn't really kill of tributes before the Hunger Games started, could they?

I didn't want to find out. We were led behind the back of the stage and into the house it had been built in front of. It was one of the oldest buildings in the city, I knew that at least.

The purple boy had been led in before us and who I'd guessed were his family had gathered around him. His mother, who's hair hung in coils down to her hips, was crying very loudly and very sadly. I thought of my own mother. Was she crying? Most likely.

The man stopped us, pointing for us each go into a room identical to the one the purple boy and his family had been sitting in. There weren't enough rooms though and soon two or three of us were put in altogether at once. We were told to sit and wait, and that our families would be here to say goodbye soon. I found myself with a petite, red-head girl and Autumnal Eyes.

She was watching me, I noted, her eyes big and brown and sad.

"This is messed up," she stated, a sigh escaping her tiny chest. She was right in a way too because this was completely and utterly messed up. The Games always had been. "It's really bad to think that we'll all just end up killing each other."

"It's what happens every year though, right?" I asked her, my voice croaky and quiet from disuse.

"True but it's still really horrible. I mean, I'm not going to lose... But I don't want to win for the same reasons."

I found myself smiling shyly at her, "What makes you so sure you'll win?"

"Because I'm Vanessa Flint, that's why. Flints never lose. So who are you two then, I haven't seen you before - well, not that I can remember anyway?" She smiled back.

I remembered the fact that we weren't alone, my eyes inadvertently flitting to the boy. He was rigid on the battered leather couch and that's when I realized I was the only one still standing. I took a seat in a chair by the fireplace, forcing myself to look away from him. I looked anywhere else, taking in that there were at least a dozen empty bookcases surrounding us. Had this room was been a library? It seemed it.

"I'm Lio Kerim," he said first and I was shocked by the tone of his voice. It was... Emotionless, detached even. The boy in the crowd seemed so different from the one sitting across the room. "And surviving may not be a victory, Vanessa. In fact it could be the opposite. Who knows what the Districts have in mind for the winner?"

"We always treated their Victors with respect and adoration though," she shot back, flicking her long red hair behind her shoulders. I had guessed that she was no older than me. "Why in the world would they treat us any differently?"

The doors to the room re-opened before Lio Kerim could reply. My parents were the first to rush into the room, arms flung at all angles around my body.

"Oh," my mother practically sang, "My poor baby, my baby! How could they do this! They are sick, sick people!"

I wanted to tell her I'd be OK in the arena but I doubted I would, remembering Wild Girl's raging eyes as they looked into mine. I found that I couldn't even talk, sobs escaping from my throat instead. I hugged my parents close, trying to remember their smells. Perfume: that was the strongest and most familiar scent of all. Sadly, I knew I would probably forget all other smells as soon as they were gone though.

Damn, it wasn't them who were going though, was it. It was me - and I was probably never coming back.

Completely engulfed in their embraces, I looked over at the red head. Vanessa Flint was almost entirely encircled by rich-looking family members. No doubt she would have plenty of sponsors. Then there was Autumnal Eyes - I mean Lio Kerim - who only had one person with him, and that was an elderly lady in a fur coat. She was combing his hair with her fingers, a soft sad smile on her face.

Really, where were the rest of his family? Had they died in the rebellion along with my baby brothers? Or had they died some time ago? Thinking about it made my throat hurt with each new sob.

"Bron," father began, his voice deeper than usual. He always deepened his voice when he wanted to seem stronger. "We're going to do everything we can to get you home. You are coming home, I promise. You'll win this for sure and we'll love you along the way."

"What if I don't win?" I whispered to neither of them in particular, ice filling my veins again.

Father pulled away slightly, giving my mother a look which she didn't reciprocate. Either way, I couldn't read what that look had meant but father didn't say any more. We all just held each other for what seemed like an eternity. I didn't care, I never wanted to let go.

Letting go came to soon though. The skin head came back in and ordered everyone to leave "the tributes". As my mothers hands left my skin, it felt as if my heart had been tugged out of my chest. There was nothing inside of it now. Only the need to see my family again as they disappeared in a fit of sobs out of the room.

I stared for a long time at the empty doorway, willing for someone to come out and saying everything that had happened in the past year had been a joke. For a moment I even let myself believe that there had been no Quarter Quell, no rebellion, no burial for my brothers, no Reaping.

"This sucks," Vanessa Flint said finally, breaking the silence between us as we waited to rejoin the rest of the Cattle and be herded somewhere else.

I wanted to reply to her but my voice was broken, tears still streaming down my face. Lio Kerim answered for me instead, and surprisingly his voice was actually slightly more emotive, "You could say that again."

* * *

_A/N: So tell me what you all think... The good, the bad, the ugly...? Reviews please :) x_


	3. Figments of Reality

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, or any original characters._

_A/N: I'd just like to say a big thank you to everyone who's submitted tributes and who has reviewed this story anyway :) it means a lot. I'm finding it interesting having to switch from points of view but because of vital character development I'm going to limit my main tributes to four. So far it's obviously Bron, Pacha and maybe - just maybe - Lio. You'll have to find out. If you have any ideas for the arena of twists in the story line I would love to hear them. Anyway, here's the next chapter..._

* * *

**Chapter 2 -**

**Figments of Reality**

**Pacha Lawson's POV**

We were on a shuttle train out of the city, heading towards the first district. We'd been told last night at the makeshift Justice Building (which was really an old town house) that we would be touring around the districts for the next fortnight before we were actually let loose in the arena. Apparently it would give the viewers a better feel for us all.

"This is pointless!" the lone red head exclaimed as the train rocked, hurtling along the tracks. She hadn't really shut up since we had left. "I mean, if it's not enough that they're doing this but they want to parade us in front of their stupid people too? It's on outrage. My father will never let them-"

She was cut off by the blonde girl I had stood next to on the stage, "Your father has no say now, so shut up already. None of us can do anything."

That last comment led them into a heated argument - which I generally ignored. I was in one of the back rows of seating, pointedly away from my fellow tributes. I didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to hear their panic as well as see it. I just wanted to be in the arena already so I could shut them up. I mean, couldn't the girls see that we were all nervous about the situation? That we all knew only one person on this shuttle, aside from the guards, would be alive this time next year?

I looked down at my violet palms. The colour had faded slightly. At least my hair was still breathtakingly bright though, which was a plus. The only plus at the moment.

The red head's voice raised another octave and I could no longer take it. "Will you be QUIET?" I shouted, half-surprised and half-pleased by how harsh my tone had come across.

She looked at me with round eyes and said, "Why? Why should I be quiet?"

"Because otherwise I'm going to knock you out," I told her. She didn't take well to this information.

"I'm killing you first, Grape Boy."

I smirked at her in response and gave a short, bitter laugh, "Oh, I'm just _dying_ to see you try."

One of the guards coughed, disrupting the argument.

That was when we noticed the youngest of us, a boy called Tiddo Murdoch, had started sobbing again. I almost, _almost_ felt sorry for the kid, and if I had felt a little less sorry for myself I might've even told him so. It seemed my comfort was needed though. The pretty-looking blonde boy had already got up and planted himself next to Tiddo.

"It'll be OK," I heard him say and I fought back a snort.

He was actually offering the poor kid hope. What an absolute ass-hole.

I rolled my eyes, focus drifting from the scene. That was when I realized I hadn't been the only one watching them. The girl that had been Selected second-to-last was watching them intently, almost as if she could benefit from their conversation. She looked scared out of her wits, too.

The train jolted again and I swore under my breath, having to grab at the upholstery of the seat in order to steady myself. At least I didn't feel sick any more, considering the fact that I'd practically thrown up my guts and a whole lot else yesterday. I had barely slept all night. I was too angry at myself for being ill in front of a live audience; none of the past tributes had ever sunk that low.

Tiddo let out a wave of new sobs and even the guard's glare was softening now. Couldn't they see he was only a kid? Couldn't they see that I too was only a kid? Obviously the Districts were all totally blind.

I tried to focus my attention on the tinted windows. We were rolling through the mountains now, heading even further away from the Capitol. Once upon a time I would've seen thought of the scenery as pretty but back then I'd never had any reason to leave home. Mom and Dad were always so adamant that their was no reason to leave the Capitol and no reason to give anywhere else, or anywhere else much thought. I wish we'd gone travelling in retrospect.

My family had always lived in the centre of the city, in a nice, trendy town house. Nothing like the one they'd sent us inside to say our goodbyes. "We're smack in the middle, so that means everything revolves around us," is what my Grandfather had always said. For much of my life I had thought he'd been right. Until I had been old enough to watch and enjoy the Games, I'd never even reckoned there was anything else but the Capitol.

It amused me slightly to think of how wrong my upbringing had been. If I'd been born in a District then I most likely wouldn't have been in this position now. Or, maybe I still would have.

"Are you OK?" the scared-looking girl had perched herself on the seat opposite me and I hadn't even noticed. She was watching me with big blue eyes.

I replied, "I'm just peachy, thank you for asking."

"Do you have a thing about fruit?" She asked, the corners of her lips rising slightly.

The train rocked again, and I inadvertently flinched.

"What are you talking about?"

She grinned at me, a notably pretty action. "You feel peachy and you look like a plum."

_Oh_. "I think I look more like a grape actually," I told her. "I'm Pacha."

"My name's Bron. D-do you think you'll win?" I blinked at her.

"I don't know... I mean, I hope I will. I can't wait to kill that Flint girl either way," I said and Bron's smile faltered slightly. She didn't seem like the murderous type, I judged. "You?"

"Never in a million years," she said, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

"Then shouldn't you be sitting with Blondey - over there?" I gestured to the boy next to Tiddo and realized I couldn't even remember his name. I watched as Bron looked him up and down, a strange remorse in her eyes._ Did she know him?_ I wondered.

"He doesn't seem to like me very much," she said. "He doesn't seem to like anything."

"He likes Tiddo," I noted. "Maybe he's just... That way inclined?"

We both laughed and, for a minuscule second, everything seemed alright and the Hunger Games were just some far away figment of reality.

"I hope I die first," she said suddenly, breaking the good atmosphere into a thousand little shards that I'd probably never be able to piece back together. A few other tributes had glanced in our direction because of what she'd said, curiosity plain on their features. _Thanks a bunch_, I snapped at her mentally. "I don't want to stick around long enough to see how everyone here dies."

"You're like a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" I shot back, causing her to flush.

Bron didn't reply, instead just returning to her other seat. It didn't matter that I felt kind of bad. She wouldn't have made a good ally anyway, considering all she had as an advantage was a death wish. The most I could've used her for was bait.

The train shuddered on the tracks and I glanced out the window again, noting that we were out of the mountains now. In the distance, I could just about make out the dots of civilisation. I realized we were only a few dozen miles from District 1. We'd be in the train for another hour (give or take) and I'd made the majority of my companions hate me.

_Nice work, Pacha_.

Maybe Bron wasn't the only one with a potential death wish.

* * *

**Lio Kerim's POV**

The guards weren't exactly kind to us as we were dispersed off of the shuttle train.

A crowd had even gathered outside the station, the majority of them joining in with jeering and shouting. A lump of fear rose in my throat but I pushed it back, tightening my grip on Tiddo's shoulder. If things got even worse then I had to make sure he'd be OK. I'd promised after all.

See, Tiddo and I had lived in the same neighbourhood of the Capitol growing up. Our parents had been friends and for years he was the vassal for my hand-me-downs. Life back then had been incredibly simple and the most I was asked to protect him from were bullies at school. "If the worst comes to be... Please make sure he survives," is what his mother had asked me two days before the Reaping. Sadly, it had and now my goal wasn't to even survive; I had to make sure he did instead.

The lump in my throat seemed to explode as something hit the back of my head with a_ crack_. I spun round instantly, furious. The broken, oozing shell of an egg lay a few feet behind me and very quickly it was joined by others.

Some of the girls even screamed as we were covered in the contents of these eggs, however I just simply glared out at the crowd. They had to remember that we'd never treated their people like this in the Games, hadn't they? As another egg hit my shirt, I knew that it wouldn't have matter anyway. These people had decades of vendettas against us - and what we namely stood for. The Capitol.

I looked around as we were hurried through the streets and towards the town square, desperate to see some sort of escape.

"C'mon," Tiddo tugged at me and I stumbled after him. The guards were more or less pushing us now, their hands much too rough.

The buildings of District 1 weren't too similar from our own. They didn't even look that destroyed or ruined by the rebellion, instead they actually looked... Fresh. We were led to the freshest-looking one of all, a large sandstone building in front of the town square.

"This should be interesting," one of the other male tributes, a guy I had known from school called Oliva Blackfoot, muttered to no one in particular. "How much worse can things get?"

I shot him a look and he returned it with a half-hearted smirk. He knew as well as I did just how much worse things could potentially get.

There was a soft buzzing of white noise as someone climbed down the steps of the sandstone building. He was short, aged man with a mess of gray hair, and if it hadn't been for the authority he seemed to possess over the people from District 1, then I doubt I would've even noticed him. It was as if everyone had fallen quiet.

He smiled now into the microphone and began to talk. "We welcome you to our District, tributes. I apologize for any unruly behaviour suggested by our populace. You are to be shown into my home, cleaned up and interviewed. You may even stay to dine but we understand the fast-paced schedule you all now face leading up to the Games. Again, welcome."

I decided I didn't like him. He was so fake it was unbelievable. Fake words, fake smile, and what I was sure was a fake toupee. I wondered if we were really even welcome.

We were quickly led into the sandstone building - a place I had guessed was this man's home. He was in front of us, whispering to one of his consorts about something. I half wanted to know what the topic of their conversation was but then, it wouldn't be important to me either way. Just victory babble, I suppose.

Tiddo frowned up at me and I followed his gaze to the office at the end of the hallway. It was completely empty and that was where we were headed. I gave him a reassuring shrug and glanced behind me at the rest of tributes.

Vanessa was complaining to any one who would listen, a boy called Rico and a handful of others were hanging back with pensive scowls, and Bron - the girl who'd mistakenly grabbed my hand before the Reaping - was looking down at her feet as we trudged onwards.

No one else had seemed to notice yet that the room was a dead end. Perhaps Oliva had been right about things getting interesting.


End file.
